She clutched her chest, trying to cover the ache in her heart. The officer told the truth. Eza died fighting the Terrans. Rage boiled in her veins at the thought. They took Eza from her, and she would get revenge.
“I’ve got to go, Sis.” He glanced over his shoulder. Other voices spoke in the background, and, from Eza’s hurried expression, he didn’t want to give them a chance to be on the video. “I promise that when I get back, I’ll write again.
“I know I don’t say it enough, but I love you, Baby Sis. I’ll write, and, hopefully, see you soon. ‘Bye.”
The screen faded to black, as Keryn cried into the darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The early evening was warm and humid, as Yen and Adam climbed the tall staircase leading to the Shrine of Initiation. It took them a long time to reach Lagurica in time for the memorial service. Since departing Proteus II, it felt as if all they did was travel. The Cair Ilmun couldn't reach the faster speeds of a cruiser or warship, so the journey from Proteus to the closest inhabited galaxy took over a month. The trio arrived worn and malnourished, having exhausted their food supplies during the journey.
Had that been the last of their travels, Yen would’ve been content. Their arrival, however, was only the beginning of their responsibilities. They left Buren in the care of an Alliance medical team before attending a litany of meetings, where they discussed the newly discovered Terran threat.
After half a year since the massacre on Proteus II, their interviews were finally finished, and they were reassigned to a new cruiser, the Revolution. Taking leave shortly after reporting to Captain Hodge, they both longed to be present for Eza’s memorial service. The journey to Lagurica was a long, necessary evil.
Climbing the last few stairs, Yen tugged at his Fleet uniform’s collar. It was so long since he wore a formal uniform, it required extensive tailoring to make it fit again. Form fitting and heavily starched, the collar bit into his neck and left little room to breathe, as sweat rolled down his back and beaded his brow. Beside him, Adam echoed his discomfort.
At the landing, they noted the expansive amphitheater filled with mourning Wyndgaarts. Though still dressed in flowing, brightly colored dresses and shirts, the colors were muted and dull compared to the strong coral pastels of the Shrine. As they found their seats, Yen and Adam were assaulted by floral scents that barely covered the deeper musk of burning incense.
A wizened, old Wyndgaart walked to the center of the stage, taking his place among the tropical flowers and smoldering spices placed around the exterior of the Warrior’s Circle. Striking his staff on the floor three times, he brought the amphitheater to reverent silence.
“Thank you all for attending this memorial service for one of our fallen kin,” the schoolmaster began, his reedy voice carrying through the crowd. “We gather tonight to mourn the loss of Eza Kai Riddell, a true child and warrior of the Wyndgaart people. In our mourning, however, we also commemorate his strength as a warrior, love as a son, and loyalty as a soldier.”
The Schoolmaster gestured for an audience member to come forward. “Though I knew and taught Eza for many years as he grew, it would be a disservice for me to stand before you and try to describe his many accomplishments when his sister is in the audience. Keryn, if you would?”
The old Wyndgaart stepped aside, as Keryn came forward, her thin, deep-purple dress clinging to her curves, as she moved. Yen sat entranced as she walked, finding her every bit as beautiful as she seemed in the picture.
Taking her place in the center of the circle, she began her eulogy. “No one ever gave more of himself than my brother.” Even during such a difficult time, her voice was strong. “To his family, he was willing to sacrifice his time to make sure we were provided for. To the Alliance he was willing to sacrifice his safety, as he volunteered for difficult missions time after time. But for his friends-they were the ones he truly loved. For them, he was willing to sacrifice his life to preserve theirs.
“Growing up, Eza was always my hero. He stood by my side through every hardship I endured. I excelled only because he drove me to it, because I wanted nothing more than to be like him. He was my hero, and that’s why it’s fitting that we are here now to remember him as a hero.”
Shifting her weight, she struggled to find the right words. “Eza and I grew apart after his Initiation. I feared that the brother I loved was gone, replaced by something new.”
The crowd murmured disapprovingly.
“I feared what I didn't understand. After a few months, he found me alone and made me sit down to talk about my worries. For the first time in my life, I saw chinks in my brother’s tough armor. The fears I had of losing him were reflected in his own concerns.
“We’d never been distant from each other, but even when he had the responsibility of an upcoming assignment to the Alliance Infantry weighing heavily on his mind, he took the time to sit down with me. That’s the way he was. Eza found comfort in his friends and family and did anything in his power to care for them.
“Though I didn’t receive a lot of support when I decided to attend the Academy instead of going through Initiation, Eza remained at my side, sending letters and videos to tell me how proud he was of me.”
She cleared her throat and paused to regain her composure. When she looked up, clear determination shone in her violet eyes. “In the Academy, there is a phrase proudly displayed throughout the school-Shirath Esquideuz Pithyas.”
Yen nodded, remembering the phrase from his time at the Academy.
“Directly translated, it means, No One Is Greater. The phrase meant little to me when I first arrived. They were words spoken by an Avalon who died generations before my time. It wasn’t until much later that I began to truly understand the deeper meaning of those four simple words and the double-edged sword contained within them. On one hand, they remind us of the necessity of humility in our lives. Arrogance dooms us to failure. Simply stated, it means that no one individual is greater than any other. One of my instructors at the Academy gave me that meaning.
“The other meaning, which I find more applicable when I think of Eza, was explained to me by the dean of the school. No One Is Greater didn’t simply mean that you must be humble. It also meant, as Eza knew all his life, that one person alone will never have the strength that can be found only in a group of friends fighting for a common goal. Eza found his calling and purpose as part of a team, and, until his dying day, he loved what he did and those with whom he served.”
She smiled softly at distant memories.
Yen knew his own expression mirrored hers, and he lost himself in memories of his friend. During her speech, Keryn captured Eza’s spirit and memory in a way that would have made her brother proud.
“I won’t remember Eza the warrior,” she said in conclusion. “I won’t remember Eza the soldier. But I’ll always remember Eza the brother and the friend. I encourage all of you to find what it was about him that truly touched your heart and savor that memory for the rest of your lives. I know I will. Thank you for attending.”
Yen watched her take her seat again, amazed at the similarities she shared with her brother. Eza’s confidence showed in Keryn’s warm smile and the polite thanks she offered to those who shook her hand. Yen’s hand went to his chest, touching the metal ID tags under his clothing.
“Thank you for your kind words, Keryn,” the Schoolmaster said, taking his place at the center of the circle again. “Please join me in our Hymn of Remembrance.”
The entire amphitheater broke into soft song, as nearly naked men and women filled the Warrior’s Circle and began dancing. The hymn rose and fell in crescendos that reminded Yen of crashing waves against a distant shore. The Wyndgaart dancers moved as if underwater, their bodies caught in undersea currents, as they writhed against each other. Each in his own way said good-bye to Eza.